Heart Over Mind
by KnightFury
Summary: Holmes is only cheerful! Why are John and Watson so concerned? Surely there is no reason to prove that he has not experimented with any substances since his 22nd Century rebirth?


I am in a wonderful mood this morning. I was too happy last night to feel the slightest bit weary and a lack of sleep has not even dented my cheerful demeanour.

Our Saturday shop for the coming week's necessities would usually bore me to death (or perhaps even to tears), but not this morning. I even find myself humming along with those ridiculous love songs that are filled with romantic drivel and smiling at everything.

"Are you all right, old boy?" asks John with a bemused expression.

"Hum?" I blink at him. "Oh. Yes, I am perfectly all right, thank you. Have you never seen me in a good mood before?"

He exchanges a glance with Watson.

"Not like this, Homes," the doctor says. "Not without the assistance of a substance, anyway."

I burst into laughter. "I have had nothing stronger than coffee, I assure you."

"Then perhaps you should keep to tea in the mornings."

I throw my head back and give another roar of laughter.

"Holmes, do please calm yourself. What the deuce has gotten into you?"

I shrug with my hands and smile at them. What the devil is wrong with being cheerful?

Lestrade will be joining us for dinner tonight and I have charge of the menu. I practically dance about the shop, still humming and swaying to the modern drivel that passes for music these days. I even twirl on the spot and toss my hat into the air (and deftly catch it again in mid step, which is not easy).

"What has happened to you?" John demands to know.

I merely shrug. "Why should I not be in a good mood? The sun is shining, the birds are singing..." Lestrade is coming to dinner... I have not seen her in what feels like an age, even though we last met up two days ago. She has become a close friend - and a lovely lady friend.

"And we are wandering about a supermarket - which you usually loathe," Watson is saying.

John groans. "He no doubt has some mischief or harebrained scheme in mind."

Nothing of the sort! "If you must know, I was contemplating going somewhere tomorrow - the six of us," I inform them. "Now, what is wrong with that?"

"What 'six of us'?" John demands to know.

I count on my fingers. "You, Watson, Briar, myself, Miss Street and Lestrade. Six." I want to get to know Miss Street. I want to know for certain that she can make my Boswell happy.

"Chelsea and I have already made plans for tomorrow," Watson informs me. "And please would you refrain from calling her 'Miss Street' - you know damned well that she does not like her name."

I shrug. "I was only being polite."

"Well, she prefers to be called Chelsea."

I sniff. "I shall try to keep that in mind," I promise as I continue to sway to the 'music' that the shop is playing. Today, I care not a jot who might see me.

My companion of old throws up his hands as if he believes to have failed to get through to me, which I do not understand. Of course I have been listening!

During the journey home, I find myself singing some of the songs that were being played. Until now, I had no idea that I even knew the words.

"I believe Lestrade calls songs like those 'ear worms'," says John from the driver's seat.

"Really?" Watson asks. "Why would she call them that?"

The robot shrugs. "Because they are difficult to forget, I suppose. I am fortunate - I can delete anything that I do not wish to remember."

"You are indeed," I agree. "I can only try my best to forget that which I do not wish to know. These 'ear worms' are going to clog my brain!" Despite my complaints, I continue to hum and sing the wretched things.

Briar greets us as he always does when we reach Baker Street - with wiggling body and excitedly wagging tail. I have often remarked upon how nice it is to have Watson at home to greet me, but there is something comforting in being welcomed by an enthusiastic dog as well. I pat his head and then assist John and Watson in preparing lunch. I am famished!

When Lestrade arrives, she is wearing a beautiful, flowing dress that matches her eyes. John compliments her as he takes her coat and smiles at me as I do my utmost to keep myself from staring.

"Thanks John. You look nice too," she says before turning to me. "Hello, Sherlock."

Time to pull myself together. "Good evening, Beth. How are you?"

"Fine thanks. I'm always fine. You?"

"The same, naturally. After you, my dear. Would you care for a drop of wine before we sit down to dinner? We have red, white and rosé."

She smirks at me as we reach the landing. "Trying to get me drunk?"

"Of course not! I am not a cad. I was going to have one, that is all."

With a laugh, she takes my arm and we enter the sitting room together. "Red, white or rosé?"

"I shall have which ever one we open," I retort.

Watson decides upon opening the red, as that best accompanies duck, and we sit down quietly with our drinks.

"I hope you realise I'm meant to be on call," Lestrade protests quietly as I take her hand in mine.

I can only smirk as I shrug my shoulders. "Tell Grayson that you are unwell - everyone is entitled to a day off, now and again. Ah! And here is John with our first course - be seated, my dear."

The meal is a great success. Not that I ever doubted that it would not be, for I know my friends' tastes as well as I know my own.

We stay up late talking, playing games and watching television. I then entertain my friends with the violin that Lestrade gave to me on Watson's first Christmas in this era. How long ago that seems now!

"That was beautiful," whispers the inspector when the final piece has reached its conclusion. "It's been a great night, but I guess I should get home now."

Already? I feel as if she has only just arrived!

"Yes, it is very late," agrees John. "I shall get your coat, Lestrade."

Watson yawns and slowly gets to his feet. "It is Indeed very late. I think I shall ready myself for bed. Will you be retiring for the night, Holmes?"

"I am not tired at all," I respond absently.

When I look up, I discover that the fellow is watching me with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I am perfectly well. Why do you ask? Am I even more 'sallow' than usual?"

He crouches at my side. "You do not seem to be quite yourself, old fellow," says he.

How can I explain that I have simply felt much too content to feel the need for sleep of late? I know not why I am so very happy!

John brings us each a bedtime hot drink and then insists that I follow my Boswell's lead and prepare for bed. He even makes me up a bed on the settee while Watson adds more fuel to the fire.

"Your surface temperature is too low," the fretting droid nags. "You are clearly tired."

I do not feel tired at all, but still I take to the makeshift bed and pull the rugs closer. I must admit that I was beginning to feel cold. I wonder why I do not feel tired - I have no ongoing cases and it is those that usually keep me from feeling weary.

"Do you think he is ailing?" I hear Watson quietly ask of our friend the compudroid. "I have never seen Holmes like this before."

Oh Watson! "I am not unwell - I have never, in fact, felt better. I shall admit that I probably am the more weary than I first believed myself to be, but I shall be right as rain once I have slept. I suggest that you cease your fretting and also get some sleep. Good night, Watson."

Perhaps I was a little bit too sharp, but how else is a fellow to get through to them? Besides, they both should know by now that I would be morose if I was ailing, not cheerful!

John touches my Boswell's arm and smiles. "I think I might know why Homes is behaving strangely," he whispers, obviously believing himself to be too quiet for me to hear. "Sherlock Holmes is in love."

"Absolute poppycock!" I explode. "I am fond of Lestrade - I shall admit that - but I have not the capacity - nor the time - to love anyone in such a manner."

"You love Doctor Watson."

I shake my head and wag a finger at the fellow. "Friendship is very different. You were talking of romance."

John shrugs his shoulders. He then gives my Boswell a sly wink.

"You did tell us that the two of you are courting now," Watson reminds me, as if I might have forgotten. "It had simply not occurred to me that you might have fallen so deeply. I do believe that John is right."

"Pah! I could not have possibly fallen at all - deeply or otherwise. I regard Beth Lestrade highly, that is all."

My friend of old narrows his eyes thoughtfully but then shrugs with a smile. "Well, good night, Holmes. Do try not to lie awake all night daydreaming and get some sleep. See that he settles down, Briar."

"Yes, please do get some sleep, old boy," John seconds with a slow wag of his finger. "Miss Lestrade would fret terribly if you become exhausted and ill - there will be no cases until you have slept."

I snort and stretch out comfortably with our English setter across my legs. "You had better go and charge, before you run out of power - I very much doubt that Watson and I could carry you downstairs."

"Hum, very well, Holmes. Sleep well."

"Good rest - both of you."

The moment that I am alone, I ponder their remarks. Could I truly be head over heels in love? Is it possible? No! Surely they were teasing me. Though, I must confess that I have found myself imagining the two of us married with children when my mind has found the time to wander. But that will have to remain a dream and I must accept as much - I could never give up my career in favour of starting a family, so how could I expect the Yarder to so?

As my eyes slide closed of their own accord, my mind drifts and I find myself upon a clifftop, surrounded by a thick mist, while a skylark sings somewhere overhead. Even in my heavy Inverness cape, I feel the chill in the air and shiver. Then there are arms about me, pulling me close, and before I even know what I am thinking of I find myself kissing Beth Lestrade. I am immediately wakeful. I look about me, only to discover Briar and I to be alone in our sitting room, before a fire that is slowly dying. I should never have kissed Lestrade - it would appear to have left me dreadfully confused. This is probably the very reason why a gentleman is advised against such actions - I fear I shall never again be a free man.


End file.
